My Four Legged Friend
by Darth Gilthoron
Summary: Sequel to Paws. Valjean has a pet that can best be described as police dog. Costarring giggling Gavroche, misbehaving Cosette and shocked Toussaint. And proving that there need not be slash, even without a dog basket.


_Happy belated birthday to Asharak, this time._ _To prove our point: that there need not be slash even if Valjean and Javert end up in the same bedroom.  
Thanks to Dern for beta-ing. What goes around comes around, as it seems…  
Beware. Hell hath no madness like Darth unleashed._

-.-.-

One late evening, somewhere in the maze of streets and alleys that was Paris, a man was taking a dog for a walk. There was nothing exceptional about this, as the city was full of men who owned dogs. Neither the man nor the dog appeared special in any way, and so, to the casual observer, they would have completely escaped attention.

The man was neither short nor tall, with even features that would go unnoticed in a crowd, and the same held true for his clothing. The way he moved hinted at strength and energy, and yet his close-cropped beard and what was visible of his hair beneath his hat were white. The dog wagged lazily while he plodded along beside the man holding his leash. He was a large, dark, somewhat shaggy male, with pointy ears stiffly erect and seemingly turned a little backwards, towards the man, who appeared to be murmuring to himself. He spoke very softly, too softly for a human to understand him clearly. But dogs have very sharp ears.

"So, what we do is keep this quiet? As far as I'm concerned?"

The dog inclined his head very slightly, then started sniffing a small heap of garbage, but without much enthusiasm.

"I could always turn myself in, you know."

The dog shook his head violently.

"To calm your conscience."

Another shake of the head.

"Come on, I might have some chance at being let off at last, don't you think?"

The dog pulled him towards a lamppost and decidedly lifted a leg.

"Do I understand this correctly as meaning _very wrong indeed_?"

This time the nod was hard to miss; it would have caught every eye had there been onlookers around.

The man sighed. "But you must understand, I'm tired of running, and if we don't come to an agreement I know I will have to run once more. And besides, as I said, I _know_ it would calm your conscience, so – Wait, where are you going?"

His ears laid back flat against his head, his teeth bared a fraction, the dog was now dragging at the leash, pulling the man behind him into the mouth of a narrow, shady alley. He seemed to look around himself as well as upwards, but the few windows above them were dark. Then, very suddenly, he stood up on two legs and began to stretch, and his hair was receding, fading away to leave bare, bronze-coloured skin. A hand reached out as the fingers were still lengthening to snatch the hat off the man's head, which was used to provide at least a hint of decent cover, for the dog had, in a matter of barely two seconds, become a man, a tall fellow with a mane of hair as dark as the dog's fur had been that hung over his shoulders, seamlessly merging into a pair of wild sideburns. "Now listen," he hissed, and his expression had not changed at all when his canine form had become a human one, only his teeth had grown less pointy, "you stop worrying about my damn conscience _right now_, you bloody saint! You're not turning yourself in just to make me at ease, do you hear? You're not doing a damn thing, and this is an order!"

"Now, now," the white-haired man said calmly. "You know I don't expect anything from you, not even a word of thanks. I do what I consider right, you know."

The other answered with a throaty snarl that sounded quite worthy of the dog he had been only a moment before, and for a fraction of a second it seemed that his ears elongated into pointy ends, but this impression was gone as quickly as it had come. "I'm warning you… Besides, you can stop holding my leash now, thank you very much."

"Isn't that the way _you_ would act?" the white-haired man insisted. "You can't possibly tell me it's wrong." He sighed softly. "Besides, I think we had better continue this discussion at home; I doubt my hat provides cover enough in case someone comes around the corner. If you'd just give it back _before_ you transform, please, otherwise it'll end up lying in the dirt. And I'll keep the leash for the same reason."

The tall, dark-haired man gave a snort of disdain. "So you worry about your exterior after all, do you?" There was a sharp line between his eyebrows as he eyed the other with a mixture of emotions that was not easy to interpret, but mostly negative. Then he tossed the hat back at him and immediately, in a matter of seconds, became a dog once more.

Putting his hat back on as if nothing had happened, Jean Valjean smiled to himself.

-.-

Back in the small flat in Number 7, Rue de l'Homme Armé, the large dog headed straight towards one of the narrow back rooms, dragging his leash behind him, while Valjean, after taking off his jacket, hat and shoes, gently pushed open the kitchen door. "Cosette? We're home."

"Papa!" A young girl rushed towards him and caught him in a flying hug on the threshold, almost throwing him off balance. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, my four-legged friend has a keen nose." Valjean winked at her. "You know him, he's being secretive again, not telling me a thing. Wouldn't want to tell me if I knew." He shrugged a little uncomfortably; too long had he been fending her off with lies and half-truths.

"That's coppers to you." Behind the girl a boy of about twelve had appeared, his neat, clean clothes in strong contrast with his dishevelled dark hair. "Bunch of sneaky blighters, the lot of 'em."

"Now, now, Gavroche," Valjean said with a gentle tone of reproach in his voice, tousling the boy's hair, "don't talk like that."

The boy grinned up at him, his eyes gleaming with mischievous delight. "Why, Uncle Jean, only yesterday you called that crone next door a daft old –"

"I think we don't want that one repeated in here," Valjean interrupted him hastily.

Cosette cocked her head sideways and raised her eyebrows in the most endearing questioning way Valjean had ever seen, but he was not going to repeat the curses from his time in jail in her presence, definitely not.

Gavroche giggled, apparently very pleased with himself.

"Backstreet whore, was it?" a dark voice rumbled behind him, almost making him jump. "Look me in the eyes and call me a liar, Jack."

Valjean sighed and turned around wearily. Normally he had such a good grip on himself; why did everybody have to be present on one of those rare occasions when he could not quite control his tongue?

Gavroche's giggles had increased audibly.

"Papa! Honestly!" And then Cosette broke into giggles as well.

One corner of Javert's thin mouth twitched into a lopsided grin. He had put on his trousers and was currently buttoning up his shirt, but had remained barefoot, and the leather collar still lay loosely around his neck, the police badge resting on his bare chest. _Lie to me, _his dark eyes seemed to say, _dare to lie to me… _The challenge was there always, as was a spark of contempt that could blaze into a flame of fury at times. Whatever they pretended, Javert was not Valjean's friend.

Why he came here at all remained a riddle to Valjean. Ever since that first night when Javert had suddenly appeared carrying a puppy by the scruff of its neck – a puppy that had turned out to be a street urchin called Gavroche – he had turned up quite regularly, in the beginning only watching from the corner of the street, then coming to Valjean's doorstep, and at last allowing himself to be taken in and fed, in whatever shape. This shape-shifting was yet another mystery, but Valjean had not inquired about it until now, despite the fact that the boy's helpless attempts at answers had more stoked than sated his curiosity. He felt that Javert would speak when the time came, and not a moment earlier. Until then, Valjean would wait patiently… and perhaps unravel another mystery, for example that of how Javert really felt about him, and what his behaviour towards him meant.

Turning back to Cosette, Valjean cleared his throat. "What have you been doing in my absence?"

Cosette smiled, and Valjean had the nasty suspicion that this still was because of the rude term he had found for their neighbour. "Improving Gavroche's spelling."

"And that constant dictatin' ain't no fun, I'm tellin' you," Gavroche sulked, forming his lips into an exaggerated pout. "It's not as if anyone needs correct spellin', they gets the message however it's spelled."

"Still," Valjean insisted, "it's going to come in handy when you want to get a good job one day."

"And so all a man gets in life is work, work, work," Gavroche stated wisely. "Such a bloody great tragedy."

Valjean caught Cosette's eye over the boy's head, and they winked at each other. "Perhaps," he suggested, "I might lighten your mood by bathing the pup later on?"

-.-

They settled down around the table, Cosette and Gavroche on one side and Valjean and Javert on the other, and the housekeeper placed a large bowl of soup on the table. In the first five minutes, Gavroche was reprimanded twice for slurping, once for dipping a finger into his bowl, and once for dipping his finger into Valjean's bowl. After that, Valjean contented himself with simply rolling his eyes. At least Gavroche's fingers were clean, so much neatness was forced upon the boy mercilessly. As long as he did not turn into a dog while they were eating, sat on the table and hung his tongue into someone's plate…

Madame Toussaint frowned at Gavroche as she brought in the water jug, but since the boy showed no embarrassment in the slightest and continued trying to eat his soup with his fork, she frowned at Javert instead, who ignored her completely. Valjean said nothing; he knew what was going to come. Instead he concentrated on keeping his lips in a thin straight line. No grinning now. No grinning… From the corner of his eye he saw that Cosette was wearing a rather similar expression, only that she was lucky enough to be sitting with her back to Toussaint.

She takes a deep breath. Here it comes, Lord, here it comes… Keep your face straight… think of something else… like… there's a cobweb in the corner above the door, big dusty cobweb… nothing funny about it…

God, if she doesn't just say it now I'll fall from that stupid bench and roll around giggling!

And if she does, I might just do the same…

She's inflating already… Here goes…

"Monsieur Fauchelevent…"

Yes, this is _it_. Her tone of mild reproach. The Tone. And I can't even remain serious at the thought of that blasted cobweb!

"Monsieur Fauchelevent, I must ask you…"

"Yes?" He managed to keep his face straight as he said it, though he suspected that his expression was one of humorous constipation. Opposite him, Gavroche gave a snort of glee. Concentrate, show some dignity, _concentrate_…

"You see," the housekeeper continued, her brow furrowing as if in deep worry, "this gentleman here…" She moved closer to Valjean and lowered her voice conspiratorially, though it still remained audible to all at the table. "He may well be a moral danger to Mademoiselle Cosette…"

"Oh, don't worry yourself about that, Madame Toussaint," Valjean managed. "He's an officer of the Law, you know." And a scandal, yes, running across my corridor in varying states of undress from time to time. And I'm too much of a saint to spot it or whatever. Oh yes. Halo slipped down over my eyes obviously.

Someone straighten my halo, thank you very much… He bit down on his tongue hard in an attempt not to grin.

Toussaint cleared her throat, an oddly dry, rasping sound. "Should I bring the gentleman his jacket, perhaps?" she offered with a meaningful look. Mild reproach, as always in that matter.

"No need to, thank you." Because he's dumped it on my bed, on top of a box of dog biscuits, and that might look somewhat suspicious. Lord, she's bound to think I'm living on dog food for reasons of religious asceticism!

"Besides," Cosette suddenly put in slyly, "he's already worn much less in my presence."

Luckily the Toussaint had put the jug down already, or else she would have dropped it, along with her jaw. Valjean clenched his teeth – Cobweb! Think cobweb! – but then decided to cover his face in his hands in an attempt at a display of resignation to hide his laughter. Cosette was absolutely right, of course, but she had forgotten to mention that on such occasions Javert was decently covered in fur.

Well, _decently_ could be debated perhaps, but since a dog wasn't precisely expected to wear trousers there was no other option available really.

Javert had really brought trouble into this quiet place, without even counting Gavroche.

"So, Papa," Cosette whispered, leaning forward across the table after a glance over her shoulder to verify that the housekeeper was retreating towards the kitchen, "you think that's funny? That's very immoral of you, I expect."

"Shockin'," Gavroche provided with his mouth full, nodding sagely.

Valjean quietly chuckled to himself. Perhaps some would consider him a bad father for not reprimanding his daughter for such a comment and allowing her to tease him openly, but he enjoyed to see her laughter, and he wanted her no other way. Now more than ever, he wished to be more than just a father to her. He wanted her to trust him, to see him as her best friend and not just a parent. After all, one kept things from parents, like lovers for example. Friends, however, were generally the first to learn about them.

"I must say," Javert spoke up, "you're spoiling the young lady, Jack."

"By providing her with the sight of you?" Valjean countered. "One can hardly call _that_ spoiling." But if she really turns her back on me to live with her Marius, I may come to appreciate the sight of you very much suddenly…

"Especially when you come runnin' down the corridor in the nuddy," Gavroche added.

"See who's talking," Javert said calmly. He had already put his spoon down and was toying with the badge on his collar. Despite the fact that Valjean had come to know him as quick to anger, he accepted a surprising lot of teasing from Cosette and the boy. "Only this morning, when Jack said he was going for a walk…"

"… you ran out of the kitchen stark naked crying _Wait for me!_" Cosette continued, winking at Javert. It still surprised Valjean how easily she had apparently made friends with him. He was an old acquaintance of her father's, that was enough for her, and already she treated him as part of the family.

Such sweet innocence…

Gavroche waved it away with dignity. "Oh, the folly of youth. But the inspector is old enough to know better."

"Which is why I keep my trousers on," Javert stated dryly. "Say, the old bint is going out now, isn't she? Because that pup _really_ needs a bath."

-.-

Stretched out on the kitchen floor comfortably, Javert watched Valjean carefully. It had become a habit, he could not help it. Later on he would curl up in the man's bedroom and sleep quite peacefully, but still every waking moment was filled with suspicion.

Perhaps he should go and sleep at Mavereux's place.

No, rather not. Good old Inspector Mavereux had a girlfriend, after all, and did not precisely like company at night that wasn't her.

Perhaps he should just sleep at his own place, and not simply sleep somewhere else just because it was his day off. There was no logic in it, anyway.

Actually, there was. Valjean had taken to frying him a sausage for breakfast when he turned up in the morning.

A shameful motivation, but still a sausage.

Whatever. Tomorrow evening this would stop anyway, because he would have to report back on duty for the nightshift. And when it was over, he would return to his own place and sleep all morning, get up again somewhere around midday, postpone shaving and spend a little time stretched out on his back blinking into the light coming in through the curtains, just enjoying the peace of a quiet awakening… And this time he'd remind Valjean to keep Gavroche in the house, or else there might be a scratching at the door once again disrupting this perfect moment. And soon enough there'd be a noisy boy sitting on his bed clad in some of his clothes that made the little miscreant look like a scarecrow and demanding stories.

Javert yawned widely. It was surprising how far one could wrench one's own jaws apart in canine shape.

In the tub in the middle of the kitchen, a small, furry brown puppy that was currently covered in soap bubbles did the same.

"Keep still, will you?" Valjean said. "Stop wagging for once!" And he rubbed some more soap into the fur.

That bath had been overdue. Gavroche had started to smell peculiar, and although he claimed that he had washed himself in the morning, to Javert's canine nose it had been an obvious lie. But that had been the boy's plan probably: have Javert prove him a liar, and therefore have Valjean, good-natured as he was, bathe him in the tub. For some reason, the boy liked that game immensely. Perhaps this was because he was so small as a dog that he could almost swim lengths in the tub. Or because of all the little bark boats floating around him, and the chance to sink them with his tail. Javert had not quite decided between those two options yet. A mixture of both, possibly.

His chin on his forelegs, he closed his eyes. His sense of hearing told him all he needed to know, anyway.

He must have dozed off, for suddenly he awoke from the sensation of being picked up around the middle, but before he could kick out with all fours he was dropped into warm, soapy water, and immediately a sponge began rubbing over his back. Snarling, he tried to twist himself around and snap at the hand doing this to him – Valjean! Who else was able to lift him up, even as a dog? – but the tub was too small for a dog his size; he felt very crammed, and to top it all he was being held rather firmly by the scruff of his neck.

Curse you, Valjean! You vile, sneaking con!

Immediately the tickling sensation that always heralded a shift of shape ran over him, but he fought it back. A human shape might be of advantage in close combat when he had no chance to bite, but the disadvantage was that this human would be crouching in the dog tub naked except for a handful of soap bubbles and being enthusiastically scrubbed by Valjean, and that would be a humiliating position to be found in.

Not that his current one wasn't.

Above him Valjean's deep chuckle could be heard, mingling with Gavroche's high giggle. So the boy was in on this. He should have known.

"Keep still," Valjean advised, "or I won't be able to pick out all the fleas."

Fleas? _Fleas?_ How _dare_ you, you foul cockroach! Javert attempted to turn and pounce, water sloshing up all around him, but Valjean's grip on him was just too strong. All he could do was scrabble around and snarl, but neither seemed to produce any desirable effect. On the contrary, Valjean now scrubbed him even more vigorously. Struggling was of no use; all it earned him was a mouthful of soapy water, which he spat out in disgust. Yuk! No doubt there were hairs from Gavroche in it! And the taste of that soap, how absolutely _vile_!

"Cosette!" Gavroche squealed. "Cosette! He's washin' the inspector!"

You _brat_! I'm going to eat you for breakfast, I _swear_ I will!

"Cosette!" The boy's shouts mingled with Valjean's merry chuckle.

After another fruitless attempt of getting out of the tub, Javert threw back his head and howled in frustration. You're going to get yours, you old jailbird! Once you let go of me, I'll take my revenge, and my revenge will be terrible beyond your imagination!

That's what you get for lazing around at a con's place. Mavereux wouldn't have done that kind of thing.

Oh well, Mavereux had tied him up in front of a shop once, along with a ridiculous yapping poodle belonging to some powdered old bat. That had been an insult too. And that one time when he had tied a pink lacy bow around his neck, and another around his tail… Not to mention the incident when he had whacked him with a rolled-up newspaper in public as if he were a common cur, that had been downright _evil_.

At least Mavereux had Valérie, who was such a lovely girl that she made up for anything. Too bad she was his friend's girl already.

On the other hand, though, Javert thought as a gentle hand stroked the soft fur between his ears, Cosette was nice to look at too. Besides, Valjean hated it when he came too close to her; the former convict was guarding her jealously as if she were his own child. Grinning inwardly, Javert licked the hand proffered to him. It was a demeaning thing to do, but if it annoyed Valjean it was worth a try.

"Oh, Papa," Cosette said, now scratching Javert's ears with both hands already, "don't torment him. Can't you hear how the poor dear's crying?"

_Crying_? Nonetheless Javert gave a pitiful whine, then, as the girl leaned down over him in a joking display of compassion, used the opportunity to lick her face. What a sweet little nose she had! One could hardly believe her mother had been such a creature – though her mother must have looked a lot different once, before she had taken to crawling around in the gutter with the worst kind of scum Montreuil managed to produce.

"He's no poor dear at all," Valjean sighed. "Just a sly bugger who is hoping to get your help."

So, you've seen me right through in your opinion? That's oh so very clever of you… and stop pouring water over my head, you dunce! Or do you want me to do the same to you once I get my hands back?

"What are you doing this for anyway?"

Yes, thank you, girl. I'm wondering about precisely that question myself.

"Do you remember that friend of his we met last week, Henri Mavereux? Well, those two gentlemen thought it was a good idea to nudge me into the gutter with one foot yesterday evening when it was raining so badly. My whole shoe was filled with water, and they found it was very funny how it squished when I walked. A lovely joke, don't you think?"

Ah, so you're nastier than I imagined you would be. So it was your revenge, not your act of provocation, eh?

Fine, we'll leave it at that, then. At least I'll come out of this tub clean, whereas you pulled out your foot with a weird sucking noise, and part of the mud stuck to you for quite some time, I recall…

"So, here we go, my four-legged friend." Valjean cast his sponge aside and lifted Javert up easily, putting him down again on a towel that lay spread out waiting for him. "Good boy. Don't you even think of shaking yourself in the middle of the kitchen."

In fact I feel a strong urge to, pal…

But already Valjean had picked up another towel and was rubbing him dry, grinning broadly. "Stand still, there's a good police doggy…"

At least, Javert thought resignedly, someone was taking care of him for once. This one time he would allow himself the luxury.

And after all, he did not want Valjean to think he could not take a joke.

-.-

Later on, after Valjean had kissed Cosette goodnight and tucked Gavroche in, he and Javert withdrew to the narrow room that was currently strewn with clothing and dog accessories. "We ought to move back to the house at Rue Plumet," Valjean stated as he pulled the door shut behind him. "This place is getting a little crowded, and besides, Madame Toussaint hardly ever comes to the backhouse where I have my quarters."

"I'd appreciate that," Javert commented dryly, pulling his shirt over his head. He placed it over a chair in a corner, then picked up the jacket he had discarded on Valjean's bed and let it join the shirt. "You and me and a house all to ourselves, eh? Well, forgive me if I don't leap in the air and squeak, but –"

"You're still refusing to like me," Valjean finished the sentence for him, smiling. "But you'll turn up all the same for a little chat about old times, and don't forget the sausages."

Javert shrugged. "Every man has his weak spot. To think I'm incorruptible normally…"

"As it's said, we all sell ourselves for something." Valjean removed the box of dog biscuits and shoved them into his cupboard.

"Yes, I'm such a hussy. Say, do you have any idea where my other sock has gotten to? I can only find one."

"Under the bed," Valjean replied absent-mindedly. "When a sock goes missing, it's always under the bed. Cravats end up among your shirts, and shirts ends up in the most embarrassing place you can imagine. That's a rule."

"Your clothes always end up where someone else finds it, as dear Inspector Mavereux says", Javert's voice came from underneath the bed. "Here, found the bugger."

"Mind your head." Valjean folded his trousers neatly and put them aside, but not too far out of reach. During these years he had spent permanently on the run, he had made it a habit of his to either sleep in his clothes or else keep them close in case he suddenly had to jump out of bed in the night and make a quick dash for safety. It always paid to be prepared. He absolutely refused to wear a nightshirt for precisely that reason; how was one to run in a long, flapping thing? It would only get tangled somewhere along the way. This was why, usually in combination with his shirt, he wore another pair of trousers to bed, one that always awaited him beneath his pillow. Cosette liked to poke fun at the "bed-trousers", but they really were a useful idea altogether.

Besides, they were a lot more practical than a nightshirt for the occasional pillow-battle Cosette liked to start sometimes.

Javert reappeared, plucked the ribbon out of his hair and shook his head, then ran his fingers through his dark mane. "Now listen, about all this talk of turning yourself in…"

Ah, thought Valjean, here it comes. It was bound to, though it's not easy for him probably.

"On second thought, I'll talk to you another time."

Not unexpected either. "Now listen here," Valjean said, shaking up his blanket, "keep your trousers on for a bit longer and sit with me, how's that?"

Javert clearly hesitated, then shrugged. "However you want. But it had better be important." Unbuckling his dog collar, he took a seat on the side of the bed, but it was obvious that he did not intend to remain there for long. Valjean wondered how long it would take for him to slip off and land on the floor, so close he was to the very edge.

"You see," Valjean began, crawling under the blanket and stretching out on his back comfortably, with his fingers interlaced beneath his head, "I've been thinking."

"Really, Jack? Should I be surprised?"

"Oh, just shut up for once and pay attention. It's just… Come on, be honest for once. We don't get on that badly, you and me."

"Unlike you," Javert put in coldly, "I'm _always_ honest." He was sitting quite stiffly, with his back to Valjean.

"Yes, I know you are, except about me. And I'm grateful, and grateful you brought me the boy, too, but we can't go on like that. We have to come to an agreement sooner or later. Are you really sure there's no chance of being let off? Once Cosette is married, I used to think, nobody would need me anymore, but now there's the boy, and there's a certain large dog too who likes to come for the occasional sausage…"

"I wouldn't be too sure about it. Yes, I know you've been a good man, but there's still much to hold against you. Henri thinks we ought to cover up for you come what may, and for this Marius character as well because he's no bad boy altogether and all that, but…" He shrugged, and Valjean knew that there was something he meant to say, but at the same time didn't want to say.

And this, in fact, was why he had accused him of being dishonest earlier on. Of course Javert had insisted on being considered honest… so he would have to prove it now.

"You know that joke Henri likes to tell about me?" Javert said at last.

"Which one, the one about the she-dog and the –"

"Not that one, Jack."

"The one about the barn and the chicken and that funny little –"

"Jack!" It was a dangerous growl, not unlike the one that would occasionally come from a certain large dog lying under Valjean's table gnawing on a bone.

Valjean grinned up at the ceiling. "Right, sorry. But he tells lots of jokes about you really."

"His favourite joke."

"Ah yes." Valjean had suspected what Javert was referring to, but sometimes it was just too much fun teasing him a little. "About your love for a woman who goes blindfolded…"

"I can practically _hear_ you waggling your eyebrows."

Once again Valjean grinned to himself. "I might, yes." There were certain implications in the idea of a blindfolded woman that could lead a man's mind straight to the gutter, especially if the man in question had spent a long time in prison, and some of that time alone in a cell in darkness. It tended to make your mind wander in a certain direction. "Well, he told me you once referred to a particularly eventful nightshift as _a wild night with Justitia_ yourself, so it's your own fault. This night in question _did_ involve handcuffs, didn't it?"

"Oh, get your dirty mind out of the gutter for once!" Javert sighed. "And _you_ think you're capable of raising a girl, do you?" At last he turned to face Valjean, but only to jokingly whack him over the head with Valjean's own braces, however he had gotten hold of them so suddenly, and then he returned to his former pose, sitting with his back to Valjean. "Anyway, what I meant to tell you is… you see, I belong to this allegorical woman, and my loyalty is to her alone. And now _you_ turn up. And you… you shatter my world by saving my life for no reason at all, and by offering to let yourself be arrested just to calm my conscience. And suddenly… you know, suddenly I begin to think that Justice truly is blind."

Closing his eyes, Valjean breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was said, then. And Javert had changed his mind, and if only a little bit. He would have been ready to return to the galleys, but to hear that he would not have to after all was true bliss. Javert would do it, then. Javert would cover up for him.

All the things that could be done just by frying a couple of sausages…

Had Javert been in canine shape at the moment, Valjean might have taken the liberty of ruffling his fur, but in this situation he would have to find something suitable to say, since just ruffling the inspector's hair might not be too appreciated, and he certainly did not want his sideburns scratched. "You know, old boy," he came up with, "Justitia would now tell you to get some sleep and think about it in the morning, wouldn't she? Don't make any promises you'll regret later on."

"Fine." Javert shrugged, then yawned widely. "But don't offer me advice, Jack."

"Yes, I know you'd never take advice from a convict. Just like you'd never close an eye under a convict's roof. Now grow some fur and make yourself comfortable."

And we'll continue this discussion in the morning, when you'll perhaps regret the almost-promise you made, but since you've been completely honest with me once already… You wouldn't take it back. Not you.

I've got you now, Inspector. I've got you now.

Valjean tried not to look smug as Javert undressed and changed shape, then leapt up onto the bed lightly. It was a dog privilege; Valjean had decided back at Toulon already that sharing his bed with a man was not precisely to his taste and therefore would be avoided, but an animal was a different matter. On four legs, Javert counted as a pet and therefore was allowed to sleep on top of the blanket by Valjean's feet if he lay still and did not chew on any part of the bed.

The large dog turned around himself two and a half times, then curled up where he had trodden the blanket into a comfortable little valley, with his chin resting on the tip of his tail. It was hard to imagine now that he had been human only a minute ago.

Good doggy.

Valjean just could not resist. He sat up and patted the furry head, and his four-legged friend wagged a little before he closed his eyes.


End file.
